Severance Package by Duane Swierczynski
This was exciting. I like actions stories that begin at the start of the action instead of the true beginning. And Swierczynski keeps the intensity level high throughout. The story did meander for a while around the two-thirds point and the ending seemed headed toward a very loose and unsatisfactory conclusion, but it finished well. A tighter ending would have earned it a B. Worth the read. And a fine introduction to The Company.
C+
OK, I’ve thought about it for a few days, and I’ve changed my mind. I finished the book on December 31, 2011. Today is January 5. I can’t shake that ending out of my head. It was awful. And out of character. The entire book is about how competent and calculating Molly Lewis is. She’s not a deranged lunatic, but that’s what the ending would have you believe. The woman at the end is a different character than the book’s protagonist, and that’s a problem.
C-
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Hell and Gone
Hell and Gone by Duane Swierczynski
Hell and Gone is the second installment of Duane Swierczynski’s Charlie Hardie trilogy. The first book of the series, Fun and Games was fairly entertaining, but nothing special. It was filled with plenty of action, but some of it was too over the top, too outlandish for me to buy. This trilogy’s supposed to be fiction, not science-fiction. Then, a couple of weeks after reading it, I realized who Charlie Hardie really is, and it dramatically improved what I thought of Fun and Games. If you see Charlie Hardie as Mickey Rourke’s character from Sin City, Swierczynski’s story become a few hundred percent better.
For the past few weeks, I had been anticipating October 31, the day Hell and Gone would download onto my Kindle. I was ready for some explosive action, more of what I got from Fun and Games. Hell and Gone exceeded all of my expectations. It was explosive; it was intense. But more than anything, it was good. Really good. I mean really, really good. A combination of the best aspects of Sin City, Saw, and Shawshank Redemption good.
The plot begins as Fun and Games ends. Hardie is injured, in transport, and in danger. And he’s wanted for murder of a Hollywood starlet. He has no idea where he is, no clue of how long it’s been since the final shootout of the first novel. What the author did from there is present everything to the reader is a wonderful way. The world building was incredible. We know the geography of Hardie’s new home, Site 7734. We know the feel of the place. The conditions are known. In short, Swierczynski described Site 7734 to us in a way that makes its construction familiar. More importantly, he made it feel real.
What this story is about is finding hope after it’s been stripped from you and you have no legitimate reason to maintain any. It is about not giving up. It is about finding the will to live, and doing so without losing your sense of self. Hell and Gone is about choosing life when there is no logical reason to keep going. It’s rather uplifting.
This is the third of Swierczynski’s novels that I’ve read. My biggest issue with the other two was that the point of view shifts often felt forced. They were jolting and very much disturbed my reading experience. No such worries in Hell and Gone. The shifts were near perfect. None of them felt extraneous. Instead, they were all part of the great storytelling. And the deeper into the novel you get, you realize how basic it really is at heart. It all boils down to one of the first things you learn in school: the five Ws.
Who is in charge and calling the shots?
What do They want?
When was Hardie brought to Site 7734?
Where exactly is Site 7734?
How is he going to escape?
Why are They doing this to him?
I highly recommend this book. Not just for the story itself, but also for the story construction, the way Swierczynski weaved it all together. If you like action, suspense, or just pure, old-fashioned fisticuffs, Hell and Gone is worth your time and money.
A
Hell and Gone is the second installment of Duane Swierczynski’s Charlie Hardie trilogy. The first book of the series, Fun and Games was fairly entertaining, but nothing special. It was filled with plenty of action, but some of it was too over the top, too outlandish for me to buy. This trilogy’s supposed to be fiction, not science-fiction. Then, a couple of weeks after reading it, I realized who Charlie Hardie really is, and it dramatically improved what I thought of Fun and Games. If you see Charlie Hardie as Mickey Rourke’s character from Sin City, Swierczynski’s story become a few hundred percent better.
For the past few weeks, I had been anticipating October 31, the day Hell and Gone would download onto my Kindle. I was ready for some explosive action, more of what I got from Fun and Games. Hell and Gone exceeded all of my expectations. It was explosive; it was intense. But more than anything, it was good. Really good. I mean really, really good. A combination of the best aspects of Sin City, Saw, and Shawshank Redemption good.
The plot begins as Fun and Games ends. Hardie is injured, in transport, and in danger. And he’s wanted for murder of a Hollywood starlet. He has no idea where he is, no clue of how long it’s been since the final shootout of the first novel. What the author did from there is present everything to the reader is a wonderful way. The world building was incredible. We know the geography of Hardie’s new home, Site 7734. We know the feel of the place. The conditions are known. In short, Swierczynski described Site 7734 to us in a way that makes its construction familiar. More importantly, he made it feel real.
What this story is about is finding hope after it’s been stripped from you and you have no legitimate reason to maintain any. It is about not giving up. It is about finding the will to live, and doing so without losing your sense of self. Hell and Gone is about choosing life when there is no logical reason to keep going. It’s rather uplifting.
This is the third of Swierczynski’s novels that I’ve read. My biggest issue with the other two was that the point of view shifts often felt forced. They were jolting and very much disturbed my reading experience. No such worries in Hell and Gone. The shifts were near perfect. None of them felt extraneous. Instead, they were all part of the great storytelling. And the deeper into the novel you get, you realize how basic it really is at heart. It all boils down to one of the first things you learn in school: the five Ws.
Who is in charge and calling the shots?
What do They want?
When was Hardie brought to Site 7734?
Where exactly is Site 7734?
How is he going to escape?
Why are They doing this to him?
I highly recommend this book. Not just for the story itself, but also for the story construction, the way Swierczynski weaved it all together. If you like action, suspense, or just pure, old-fashioned fisticuffs, Hell and Gone is worth your time and money.
A
Sunday, October 30, 2011
We All Fall Down
We All Fall Down by Michael Harvey
Of the four novels Michael Harvey has written about Michael Kelly, PI, We All Fall Down was the least enjoyable. It’s still fairly enjoyable, though. It’s just not very good. But that’s OK; “good” isn’t really what you’re looking for when you read a Michael Kelly story. These novels are about the gritty, tough Chicago of stereotypes: tough cops, criminal cops, corrupt politicians, drugs, guns, and sex.
We All Fall Down picks up an open piece of the plot of the previous book, The Third Rail. The seeds were there for a very interesting story of madmen and bioterrorism. Instead, we got a far-fetched tale of science fiction that was neither suspenseful nor intriguing. That was neither what I wanted nor what we had been conditioned to expect from Harvey.
Again, it’s not bad, but it’s not at all what I wanted. I’ll continue to read the series, but I was highly disappointed in this installment.
C-
Of the four novels Michael Harvey has written about Michael Kelly, PI, We All Fall Down was the least enjoyable. It’s still fairly enjoyable, though. It’s just not very good. But that’s OK; “good” isn’t really what you’re looking for when you read a Michael Kelly story. These novels are about the gritty, tough Chicago of stereotypes: tough cops, criminal cops, corrupt politicians, drugs, guns, and sex.
We All Fall Down picks up an open piece of the plot of the previous book, The Third Rail. The seeds were there for a very interesting story of madmen and bioterrorism. Instead, we got a far-fetched tale of science fiction that was neither suspenseful nor intriguing. That was neither what I wanted nor what we had been conditioned to expect from Harvey.
Again, it’s not bad, but it’s not at all what I wanted. I’ll continue to read the series, but I was highly disappointed in this installment.
C-
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Lobster Tales
Last Night at the Lobster by Stewart O'Nan
I always get nervous when a White author, especially an American White author, writes a story about people of color. As we were introduced to the characters one by one, I realized that all of them are either Black, Latino, or undescribed. I found the undescribeds annoying. It read to me as if we had to be told the when the characters weren’t White, as if only non-Whiteness needs to be described or remarked upon. Maybe it’s nothing, but it’s not nothing to me. I don’t think it was intentional. But it is something that I noticed. It was very offputting.
I know what O’Nan was trying to achieve with this book. He actually does a fairly good job of showing working class people showing pride and dignity in their jobs. The restaurant is closing for good at the end of the day, there are only five days until Christmas, and a monster snowstorm has already started. Yet, these people are at work and are working hard. But…you can tell that, save a bus of Chinese passengers just stopping for a minute, all of the customers are White. So what Last Night at the Lobster tells is the story of a crew of Black and Latinos serving White people for a full day. And OK. That doesn’t have to be bad. The story could be good. But it isn’t. Not at all.
The entire day is told from Manny’s point of view. Manny is the manager. He is our hero. I say “hero” because O’Nan spends many pages putting us inside of Manny’s head as he is constantly trying to do the best for his customers, his employees, and his restaurant. Because, as O’Nan tells us, Manny thinks of the restaurant as his. And even though the restaurant is already doomed to close its doors forever, he wants the last day to leave a good impression on the bosses before he begins working two days later at a different restaurant as assistant manager. Yeah, color-wise, this story does not work for me at all. Oh, about Manny the hero? The first thing he does after we meet him is toke up in his car before beginning his heroic shift. And throughout the day, he spends time thinking about his table-touches, trying to please customers enough to get them to shake his hand, and in general is just aiming to please.
None of the characters are really likeable. As a reader, I felt no emotion for any of them, no compulsion to root for any of them. And, really, the only conflict wasn’t really a conflict. It’s just Manny being Manny (Stewart O’Nan is a Red Sox fan), which means he’s nervous and paranoid about issues that amount to nothing and spends all of his time trying to make a good impression.
Last Night at the Lobster isn’t bad. It’s just very, very boring. And the server-clientele racial dynamic isn’t a pleasant one. Overall…it’s just kind of there.
Oh...does the author only know one Spanish word, abuelita? Its repeated use was so out of place.
D+
I always get nervous when a White author, especially an American White author, writes a story about people of color. As we were introduced to the characters one by one, I realized that all of them are either Black, Latino, or undescribed. I found the undescribeds annoying. It read to me as if we had to be told the when the characters weren’t White, as if only non-Whiteness needs to be described or remarked upon. Maybe it’s nothing, but it’s not nothing to me. I don’t think it was intentional. But it is something that I noticed. It was very offputting.
I know what O’Nan was trying to achieve with this book. He actually does a fairly good job of showing working class people showing pride and dignity in their jobs. The restaurant is closing for good at the end of the day, there are only five days until Christmas, and a monster snowstorm has already started. Yet, these people are at work and are working hard. But…you can tell that, save a bus of Chinese passengers just stopping for a minute, all of the customers are White. So what Last Night at the Lobster tells is the story of a crew of Black and Latinos serving White people for a full day. And OK. That doesn’t have to be bad. The story could be good. But it isn’t. Not at all.
The entire day is told from Manny’s point of view. Manny is the manager. He is our hero. I say “hero” because O’Nan spends many pages putting us inside of Manny’s head as he is constantly trying to do the best for his customers, his employees, and his restaurant. Because, as O’Nan tells us, Manny thinks of the restaurant as his. And even though the restaurant is already doomed to close its doors forever, he wants the last day to leave a good impression on the bosses before he begins working two days later at a different restaurant as assistant manager. Yeah, color-wise, this story does not work for me at all. Oh, about Manny the hero? The first thing he does after we meet him is toke up in his car before beginning his heroic shift. And throughout the day, he spends time thinking about his table-touches, trying to please customers enough to get them to shake his hand, and in general is just aiming to please.
None of the characters are really likeable. As a reader, I felt no emotion for any of them, no compulsion to root for any of them. And, really, the only conflict wasn’t really a conflict. It’s just Manny being Manny (Stewart O’Nan is a Red Sox fan), which means he’s nervous and paranoid about issues that amount to nothing and spends all of his time trying to make a good impression.
Last Night at the Lobster isn’t bad. It’s just very, very boring. And the server-clientele racial dynamic isn’t a pleasant one. Overall…it’s just kind of there.
Oh...does the author only know one Spanish word, abuelita? Its repeated use was so out of place.
D+
Monday, October 24, 2011
Divided Soul
Divided Soul: The Life of Marvin Gaye by David Ritz
This book was good, as good as possible, but not as good as it could have been. I believe that’s because the author, David Ritz, was too close to the subject. Knowing that Ritz and Gaye had a rollercoaster relationship that included litigation and disputes over money, there was no way I can take Ritz’s biography at face value. Even though the story of Divided Soul is nonfiction, it is told in the voice of an unreliable narrator.
Don’t get me wrong. I give Ritz a lot of credit for this work. This was heavily researched and there was a lot of in depth interviews with Marvin Gaye’s close friends and family. The interviewees, including Marvin, himself, are quoted heavily. With very rare exception, the quotes work and fit seamlessly into the story.
And that story was fantastic. Tragic, but fantastic. The way Ritz was able to relate Marvin’s lyrics to his life was great. It is difficult to read this book without emoting. And very difficult to read it and not judge the people closest to Gaye—personally, I find it very hard, despite knowing that times and life were much different back then, to not judge Marvin’s mother. If this was a work of fiction, it would be a 5-star work. For much of the book, I felt like I was in Marvin’s head.
But that’s also my biggest problem with the book. I don’t trust Ritz’s version of things. I can’t. Page after page after page of Divided Soul tells tale of Marvin’s manipulations of the people closest to him and the instability of those relationships. Ritz was one of those people, one of those relationships. He and Gaye were on non-speaking terms for nearly half of the time they knew each other. I cannot fully but into his insights into Marvin’s mindset. I don’t have full faith in his portrayals of Marvin’s emotions.
Marvin’s is a story that needs to be told by an outsider, but there’s no way an outsider could know or learn all that Ritz did. In that way, Divided Soul is, I believe, the best we can get. I’m glad I read it.
C+
This book was good, as good as possible, but not as good as it could have been. I believe that’s because the author, David Ritz, was too close to the subject. Knowing that Ritz and Gaye had a rollercoaster relationship that included litigation and disputes over money, there was no way I can take Ritz’s biography at face value. Even though the story of Divided Soul is nonfiction, it is told in the voice of an unreliable narrator.
Don’t get me wrong. I give Ritz a lot of credit for this work. This was heavily researched and there was a lot of in depth interviews with Marvin Gaye’s close friends and family. The interviewees, including Marvin, himself, are quoted heavily. With very rare exception, the quotes work and fit seamlessly into the story.
And that story was fantastic. Tragic, but fantastic. The way Ritz was able to relate Marvin’s lyrics to his life was great. It is difficult to read this book without emoting. And very difficult to read it and not judge the people closest to Gaye—personally, I find it very hard, despite knowing that times and life were much different back then, to not judge Marvin’s mother. If this was a work of fiction, it would be a 5-star work. For much of the book, I felt like I was in Marvin’s head.
But that’s also my biggest problem with the book. I don’t trust Ritz’s version of things. I can’t. Page after page after page of Divided Soul tells tale of Marvin’s manipulations of the people closest to him and the instability of those relationships. Ritz was one of those people, one of those relationships. He and Gaye were on non-speaking terms for nearly half of the time they knew each other. I cannot fully but into his insights into Marvin’s mindset. I don’t have full faith in his portrayals of Marvin’s emotions.
Marvin’s is a story that needs to be told by an outsider, but there’s no way an outsider could know or learn all that Ritz did. In that way, Divided Soul is, I believe, the best we can get. I’m glad I read it.
C+
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Married with Zombies
Married with Zombies by Jesse Petersen
I was looking for something light and fun with some action, and Married with Zombies delivered. It was also very annoying. In just about every scene, the protagonists made classic zombie invasion mistakes, and it seems like they never learned from them. Also, at some point the emotion of killing undead people has to fade away. There was no progression throughout the novel. I’ll read the next one, and I’m sure it’ll be fun. I just won’t expect it to be very good. Hopefully I’m pleasantly surprised.
I do have to add that there was a one part that really irritated me:
C
I was looking for something light and fun with some action, and Married with Zombies delivered. It was also very annoying. In just about every scene, the protagonists made classic zombie invasion mistakes, and it seems like they never learned from them. Also, at some point the emotion of killing undead people has to fade away. There was no progression throughout the novel. I’ll read the next one, and I’m sure it’ll be fun. I just won’t expect it to be very good. Hopefully I’m pleasantly surprised.
I do have to add that there was a one part that really irritated me:
“Now call out.”That has nothing to do with feminism. In fact, I feel like that passage cheapens the whole meaning of the concept. That moment really took me out of the story.
I tilted my head in confusion. “Call out?”
He nodded with utter certainty. “If someone’s hiding in here, they might be less afraid if a woman calls for them than a man.”
I rolled my eyes but sisnce I didn’t want to argue the concept of feminism with my husband at that particular moment, I cleared my throat.”
C
Sunday, October 16, 2011
The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest
The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest by Stieg Larsson
The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest picks up about two hours after the end of The Girl Who Played with Fire, which means that there was no long wind up—and if you’ve read the first two novels of the trilogy, you know exactly what I mean—to read before the actual story began. We begin right in the middle of the action. Much more so than the first two novels, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest is an action novel, even when we enter the courtroom.
To me, the very best thing about the plot was that Stieg Larsson constructed everything so that a semi-intelligent reader can see how rape culture and the denigration of women is structurally ingrained into society. From Lisbeth Salander’s story to Erika Berger’s story to Monica Figuerola’s, we are shown a very realistic portrayal of how women are treated and how that treatment shapes everything in a woman’s life, including those things that she cannot control. It is a story that can easily be told about poor and non-White persons here in America. Very good lessons…but I’m sure most will miss them.
I also liked many of the characters who exist only in this installment of the trilogy. Evert Gullberg, Monica Figuerola, and Frederik Clinton were all very compelling. And even though we met him briefly in The Girl Who Played with Fire, we don’t really get to know Dr. Teleborian until this book. The courtroom scene with him on the stand is one of the best courtroom scenes I have ever read. For different reasons, Gullberg and Teleborian are two of the most chilling and creepy characters you will ever encounter.
Still, this is Lisbeth Salander’s story. Nothing Larsson did changed that. He was never going to take the story away from her. Ultimately, the entire Millennium trilogy is Lisbeth’s. It is her rising from unspeakable horror and finding both herself and her place in the world. One of the things that disappointed me about The Girl Who Played with Fire is that the Lisbeth in that book was not the same Lisbeth from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. After reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, however, I realize that it could not be the same Lisbeth. Too much has happened to her. She is a survivor, and survival means adapting. She had to change because her world changed. To keep her the same would have been disingenuous. I loved her story, and I love her. What a fascinating character.
By no means was this novel perfect, though. I was tired of the so-called Blomqvist charm by the middle of the previous installment. It was way over the top this time. Also, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest was a borderline A novel until the epilogue. The epilogue takes up a full 5% of a 590+ page novel. And all but one sentence of it was unnecessary. Those things that the epilogue did wrap up were, in my opinion, inconsequential. I thought they had already been solved implicitly.
But it was great. I loved it, and I highly recommend the entire series.
B+
The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest picks up about two hours after the end of The Girl Who Played with Fire, which means that there was no long wind up—and if you’ve read the first two novels of the trilogy, you know exactly what I mean—to read before the actual story began. We begin right in the middle of the action. Much more so than the first two novels, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest is an action novel, even when we enter the courtroom.
To me, the very best thing about the plot was that Stieg Larsson constructed everything so that a semi-intelligent reader can see how rape culture and the denigration of women is structurally ingrained into society. From Lisbeth Salander’s story to Erika Berger’s story to Monica Figuerola’s, we are shown a very realistic portrayal of how women are treated and how that treatment shapes everything in a woman’s life, including those things that she cannot control. It is a story that can easily be told about poor and non-White persons here in America. Very good lessons…but I’m sure most will miss them.
I also liked many of the characters who exist only in this installment of the trilogy. Evert Gullberg, Monica Figuerola, and Frederik Clinton were all very compelling. And even though we met him briefly in The Girl Who Played with Fire, we don’t really get to know Dr. Teleborian until this book. The courtroom scene with him on the stand is one of the best courtroom scenes I have ever read. For different reasons, Gullberg and Teleborian are two of the most chilling and creepy characters you will ever encounter.
Still, this is Lisbeth Salander’s story. Nothing Larsson did changed that. He was never going to take the story away from her. Ultimately, the entire Millennium trilogy is Lisbeth’s. It is her rising from unspeakable horror and finding both herself and her place in the world. One of the things that disappointed me about The Girl Who Played with Fire is that the Lisbeth in that book was not the same Lisbeth from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. After reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest, however, I realize that it could not be the same Lisbeth. Too much has happened to her. She is a survivor, and survival means adapting. She had to change because her world changed. To keep her the same would have been disingenuous. I loved her story, and I love her. What a fascinating character.
By no means was this novel perfect, though. I was tired of the so-called Blomqvist charm by the middle of the previous installment. It was way over the top this time. Also, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest was a borderline A novel until the epilogue. The epilogue takes up a full 5% of a 590+ page novel. And all but one sentence of it was unnecessary. Those things that the epilogue did wrap up were, in my opinion, inconsequential. I thought they had already been solved implicitly.
But it was great. I loved it, and I highly recommend the entire series.
B+
Saturday, October 8, 2011
The Girl Who Played with Fire
The Girl Who Played with Fire by Stieg Larsson
What a disappointment. My first impression of The Girl Who Played with Fire during the first few chapters was that Stieg Larsson fell in love with Lisbeth Salander while writing The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. As I got deeper into the book, I realized that the problem was more than that.
Structurally, this book was overwhelmingly heavy on exposition. After every important piece of dialogue, I knew I would read three to five paragraphs summarizing everything that I had just read. It was like being in elementary school again, where kids read a story and then read an essay explaining all of the concepts and themes from the text. The Girl Who Played with Fire is an adult book; that was unnecessary.
I’ve thought about it, and I’m fairly certain that I’ve not read a more preachy piece of fiction as an adult. Yes, the author wanted to rail against many of society’s ills, but he did so in a very overt and ineffectual way. And much of the preachiness occurs in passages that have absolutely nothing to do with anything else in the book. One example is a two-page long history of one character’s relationship with her husband. The only point of this history is to express Larsson’s view that polyamorous marriages are OK if both partners agree. There is so much that Larsson wanted to say in this book, and he made sure to get it all in. But he didn’t make sure that it all actually fit into the story. He put it all in. The novel reads like a very long newspaper article. Actually, it’s closer to a column; it is very much slanted one way. Again, that’s not bad. Just poor, poor execution.
To me, the biggest difference between this and the first novel of the trilogy is the narration from Lisbeth’s point of view. In the first novel, we read her thoughts. This time, it is almost exclusively her feelings. Huge difference, and it makes her a very different and much less compelling character. One of the intriguing things about The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is the mystery of Lisbeth. Even though we don’t know everything about her in The Girl Who Played with Fire, we are very much in tune with her motivations and emotions. That eliminates much of the mystery and intrigue. It makes both her, and solving the mystery that drives the plot, much less interesting than they should be.
The characters are all over-the-top caricatures. The bad guys are bad. Always bad. In every waking moment of their lives bad. It’s so ridiculous. And the character traits that these people have. My goodness!
Whereas most of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo felt real, nothing in The Girl Who Played with Fire did. Nothing. Everything was contrived and force-fed. It is difficult for me to decide which are the most ridiculous. It could be any of Lisbeth’s action scenes. Or any of the blond giant’s scenes. In the end, I think Lisbeth herself is the most ridiculous thing about the novel. As I said to my wife, the Lisbeth that we encounter in The Girl Who Played with Fire is a cross between Ang of Avatar: The Last Airbender and Leeloo from The Fifth Element. During the final stages of the book, she became even more absurd.
That is the word that best describes the novel. The Girl Who Played with Fire was absurd.
C+
What a disappointment. My first impression of The Girl Who Played with Fire during the first few chapters was that Stieg Larsson fell in love with Lisbeth Salander while writing The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. As I got deeper into the book, I realized that the problem was more than that.
Structurally, this book was overwhelmingly heavy on exposition. After every important piece of dialogue, I knew I would read three to five paragraphs summarizing everything that I had just read. It was like being in elementary school again, where kids read a story and then read an essay explaining all of the concepts and themes from the text. The Girl Who Played with Fire is an adult book; that was unnecessary.
I’ve thought about it, and I’m fairly certain that I’ve not read a more preachy piece of fiction as an adult. Yes, the author wanted to rail against many of society’s ills, but he did so in a very overt and ineffectual way. And much of the preachiness occurs in passages that have absolutely nothing to do with anything else in the book. One example is a two-page long history of one character’s relationship with her husband. The only point of this history is to express Larsson’s view that polyamorous marriages are OK if both partners agree. There is so much that Larsson wanted to say in this book, and he made sure to get it all in. But he didn’t make sure that it all actually fit into the story. He put it all in. The novel reads like a very long newspaper article. Actually, it’s closer to a column; it is very much slanted one way. Again, that’s not bad. Just poor, poor execution.
To me, the biggest difference between this and the first novel of the trilogy is the narration from Lisbeth’s point of view. In the first novel, we read her thoughts. This time, it is almost exclusively her feelings. Huge difference, and it makes her a very different and much less compelling character. One of the intriguing things about The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is the mystery of Lisbeth. Even though we don’t know everything about her in The Girl Who Played with Fire, we are very much in tune with her motivations and emotions. That eliminates much of the mystery and intrigue. It makes both her, and solving the mystery that drives the plot, much less interesting than they should be.
The characters are all over-the-top caricatures. The bad guys are bad. Always bad. In every waking moment of their lives bad. It’s so ridiculous. And the character traits that these people have. My goodness!
Whereas most of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo felt real, nothing in The Girl Who Played with Fire did. Nothing. Everything was contrived and force-fed. It is difficult for me to decide which are the most ridiculous. It could be any of Lisbeth’s action scenes. Or any of the blond giant’s scenes. In the end, I think Lisbeth herself is the most ridiculous thing about the novel. As I said to my wife, the Lisbeth that we encounter in The Girl Who Played with Fire is a cross between Ang of Avatar: The Last Airbender and Leeloo from The Fifth Element. During the final stages of the book, she became even more absurd.
That is the word that best describes the novel. The Girl Who Played with Fire was absurd.
C+
Sunday, October 2, 2011
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
Unless an author is going to just pull a reveal out of his/her butt and not give the reader a legitimate chance to figure it out, there is a finite number of possible answers to any mystery. The quality of the story lies not in whether or not the reader can figure it out, but rather in the skill and execution of crafting the tale. This is where The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo succeeds.
Before I had begun reading, I had been warned that the book starts slowly and then really picks up. I did not, however, find the beginning slow. I was engrossed from the start. Part of what I found brilliant was that there was no GIANT MOMENT OF EXCITEMENT to grab the reader. Instead, everything flowed naturally. In addition, the subplots were fit into the major story arc perfectly.
The only gripe I had—and it’s not necessarily a small one—lies in Lisbeth Salander’s dialogue. The fault probably lies at the hands of the translator, but I just don’t believe that character would speak in the manner she does. It was a little off-putting, and for brief moments took me out of the story.
One thing that really helped to draw me in was Stieg Larsson’s scene setting. I felt the shifts in temperature: the chills in the air, the sweltering heat. And I have a vivid picture of all of the characters from Ricky Berger to Isabella Vanger and everyone in between. And I swear to you that I can close my eyes right now and draw a map of Hedeby island, complete with locales—although I couldn’t possibly pronounce the name of most of the important places.
The most important thing I can say is that I was in the story, and it did not take me long to get there. Because it is so engrossing, the political messages feel neither forced nor overwhelming. Everything is...natural.
I loved it. Can’t wait to start the next one. I’m sure I’ll have a lot more to say once I complete the trilogy.
A
Unless an author is going to just pull a reveal out of his/her butt and not give the reader a legitimate chance to figure it out, there is a finite number of possible answers to any mystery. The quality of the story lies not in whether or not the reader can figure it out, but rather in the skill and execution of crafting the tale. This is where The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo succeeds.
Before I had begun reading, I had been warned that the book starts slowly and then really picks up. I did not, however, find the beginning slow. I was engrossed from the start. Part of what I found brilliant was that there was no GIANT MOMENT OF EXCITEMENT to grab the reader. Instead, everything flowed naturally. In addition, the subplots were fit into the major story arc perfectly.
The only gripe I had—and it’s not necessarily a small one—lies in Lisbeth Salander’s dialogue. The fault probably lies at the hands of the translator, but I just don’t believe that character would speak in the manner she does. It was a little off-putting, and for brief moments took me out of the story.
One thing that really helped to draw me in was Stieg Larsson’s scene setting. I felt the shifts in temperature: the chills in the air, the sweltering heat. And I have a vivid picture of all of the characters from Ricky Berger to Isabella Vanger and everyone in between. And I swear to you that I can close my eyes right now and draw a map of Hedeby island, complete with locales—although I couldn’t possibly pronounce the name of most of the important places.
The most important thing I can say is that I was in the story, and it did not take me long to get there. Because it is so engrossing, the political messages feel neither forced nor overwhelming. Everything is...natural.
I loved it. Can’t wait to start the next one. I’m sure I’ll have a lot more to say once I complete the trilogy.
A
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Fun & Games
Fun & Games by Duane Swierczynski
Duane Swierczynski’s Fun & Games wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t good either. It just kind of was. It’s fairly entertaining, and very fast to read. Some of the violence is very 24-ish, and the ridiculousness of the lead character, Charlie Hardie, cannot be overstated.
The most annoying thing is the POV shifts. Sometimes, you have it shift for just a sentence or two. It’s not hard to follow, just annoying.
But I like it enough to read the next one.
C
Duane Swierczynski’s Fun & Games wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t good either. It just kind of was. It’s fairly entertaining, and very fast to read. Some of the violence is very 24-ish, and the ridiculousness of the lead character, Charlie Hardie, cannot be overstated.
The most annoying thing is the POV shifts. Sometimes, you have it shift for just a sentence or two. It’s not hard to follow, just annoying.
But I like it enough to read the next one.
C
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Up in Flames
Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins
I didn’t think Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games was a great book, but I thought the world building was. The plot of that novel really drew me in. And, as I understood that it was just the first novel in a trilogy, I thought The Hunger Games was a fine lead-in to the tale Collins wanted to tell. Catching Fire undid a lot of that good feeling.
In The Hunger Games, Katniss is young and relatively inexperienced. My expectation was that going through the Hunger Games in the opening novel would age her beyond her years and give her a hardness similar to that developed by Sarah Connor between the first and second Terminator films. What Catching Fire shows, though, is that the experience of surviving the Hunger Games did not have any significant effect on Katniss’ psyche. All of her thoughts are still very young and naïve.
The only real development we see in Katniss is her—for lack of a better term—hormonal awakening. I understand this is a young adult series, but Collins would have been much better served leaving Katniss’ hormones out of the trilogy than by having this seventeen-year old who had already been through one Hunger Games, killed several people, publicly prepared to commit televised dual suidice, and was in the midst of sacrificing herself discuss her “hunger” for kissing a boy. It just came across as awkward. This is not a children’s book. There is too much murder and gore to pretend otherwise. The author did not have to create a sexual relationship, but she did her readers a disservice by introducing the topic of Katniss’ hormones while neither hinting at nor discussing sex or even thoughts of sex. This is emblematic of the entire series thus far. Collins has good ideas and good setup, but she pulls the reins and refuses to do what is necessary in order to get the most out of her ideas.
There is one paragraph in Chapter 17 that stood out to me for this reason:
The beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep Peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance. A refusal to play the Hunger Games by the Capitol’s rules. My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I really could save Peeta…in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for the cause and paint my face on banners, and it will do more to rally people than anything I could do if I was living. But Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his pain into words that will transform people.
Here we see Katniss’ potential. She could be that martyr, but we know that Suzanne Collins was not going to kill her. We see a glimpse of hardness, but Collins doesn’t commit to it. Instead, Catching Fire presents a more soft and sentimental Katniss than did The Hunger Games. In the first novel, the heroine directly killed two people—although one was in an immediate moment of emotional revenge and the other was essentially a mercy killing—and was responsible for a couple more. This time around, she neither directly nor indirectly kills anyone. There is much introspection regarding how hard it would be to kill this person or that person, consideration as to whether or not now is the time to take him or her out. But she never does it. She’s never close to doing it. Katniss Everdeen survived two Hunger Games, yet never made one true kill. Collins should have named her Mary Sue.
There is talk of empowerment, but I don’t understand it. There is no female positivity in this novel. If I ever have children, I wish for them to never read these books. I don’t want my daughter to see Katniss as a heroine. She is a naïve girl who, through two novels, does not grow up and remains self-absorbed and oblivious to the world around her. The plot of Catching Fire is driven by men who think they know what’s best for Katniss and make secret plans about her without her knowledge. I don’t want my son to think this a valid way to treat women. And I don’t want either of them to read about Katniss’ being a brat, see that the men in Catching Fire were actually right, and think that it’s OK. Because none of it was OK. These people are presented as heroes, but there is nothing heroic about them. Any of them.
And Katniss is dumber than a sack of potatoes. We get the stories through her eyes, so we know how she thinks and feels about what is presented to her. As I told my wife, it was as if we were told a new clue given every ten minutes for five hours, yet despite solving the mystery after the second clue, we’re forced to sit through the next four hours and forty minutes of receiving clue after clue after clue. But Katniss doesn’t see any of it. The events and experiences of The Hunger Games did nothing for her cognitive reasoning skills, her intuition, or her core being. We’re supposed to believe this young woman is a survivor, yet she displays none of the traits of a survivor. It’s just phony.
But I can say that about a lot of other aspects of the world Collins created. We get no mention of a pro-Capitol person in the Districts. In every oppressed group, there is at least one faction of people who aligns with the ruling class. Apparently Panem is the exception. We don’t even hear of a tribute, not even a Career, who supports the Capitol. In fact, we saw the opposite, a circle of solidarity the night before the Quarter Quell began.
I can’t believe the Capitol is as dumb as Collins portrays them. Every empire has chinks in the armor, but the Capitol could not be that dumb. Nobody picks up on the mockingjay? Please. Nothing was more absurd than Katniss’ Quarter Quell interview wedding dress. Had I not been reading on my Kindle, I would have thrown the book across the room after that part.
I don’t anticipate the final book of the trilogy, but I will read it because I try to finish series that I start. But I have next to zero interest in it.
The ideas of this trilogy are so good. There is so much potential. I loved the idea of previous victors returning to the arena for the Quarter Quell. I loved the idea of Katniss dedicating herself to making sure Peeta survives victorious. I just don’t like any of the execution. As I read, I can’t help but to think about what I or any number of people could have done with this story. It is only because of those good ideas that I rate Catching Fire as highly as I do.
In the end, what I say is that The Hunger Games got be to buy in for the idea and the potential. I couldn’t buy into Catching Fire.
C-
I didn’t think Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games was a great book, but I thought the world building was. The plot of that novel really drew me in. And, as I understood that it was just the first novel in a trilogy, I thought The Hunger Games was a fine lead-in to the tale Collins wanted to tell. Catching Fire undid a lot of that good feeling.
In The Hunger Games, Katniss is young and relatively inexperienced. My expectation was that going through the Hunger Games in the opening novel would age her beyond her years and give her a hardness similar to that developed by Sarah Connor between the first and second Terminator films. What Catching Fire shows, though, is that the experience of surviving the Hunger Games did not have any significant effect on Katniss’ psyche. All of her thoughts are still very young and naïve.
The only real development we see in Katniss is her—for lack of a better term—hormonal awakening. I understand this is a young adult series, but Collins would have been much better served leaving Katniss’ hormones out of the trilogy than by having this seventeen-year old who had already been through one Hunger Games, killed several people, publicly prepared to commit televised dual suidice, and was in the midst of sacrificing herself discuss her “hunger” for kissing a boy. It just came across as awkward. This is not a children’s book. There is too much murder and gore to pretend otherwise. The author did not have to create a sexual relationship, but she did her readers a disservice by introducing the topic of Katniss’ hormones while neither hinting at nor discussing sex or even thoughts of sex. This is emblematic of the entire series thus far. Collins has good ideas and good setup, but she pulls the reins and refuses to do what is necessary in order to get the most out of her ideas.
There is one paragraph in Chapter 17 that stood out to me for this reason:
The beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep Peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance. A refusal to play the Hunger Games by the Capitol’s rules. My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I really could save Peeta…in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for the cause and paint my face on banners, and it will do more to rally people than anything I could do if I was living. But Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his pain into words that will transform people.
Here we see Katniss’ potential. She could be that martyr, but we know that Suzanne Collins was not going to kill her. We see a glimpse of hardness, but Collins doesn’t commit to it. Instead, Catching Fire presents a more soft and sentimental Katniss than did The Hunger Games. In the first novel, the heroine directly killed two people—although one was in an immediate moment of emotional revenge and the other was essentially a mercy killing—and was responsible for a couple more. This time around, she neither directly nor indirectly kills anyone. There is much introspection regarding how hard it would be to kill this person or that person, consideration as to whether or not now is the time to take him or her out. But she never does it. She’s never close to doing it. Katniss Everdeen survived two Hunger Games, yet never made one true kill. Collins should have named her Mary Sue.
There is talk of empowerment, but I don’t understand it. There is no female positivity in this novel. If I ever have children, I wish for them to never read these books. I don’t want my daughter to see Katniss as a heroine. She is a naïve girl who, through two novels, does not grow up and remains self-absorbed and oblivious to the world around her. The plot of Catching Fire is driven by men who think they know what’s best for Katniss and make secret plans about her without her knowledge. I don’t want my son to think this a valid way to treat women. And I don’t want either of them to read about Katniss’ being a brat, see that the men in Catching Fire were actually right, and think that it’s OK. Because none of it was OK. These people are presented as heroes, but there is nothing heroic about them. Any of them.
And Katniss is dumber than a sack of potatoes. We get the stories through her eyes, so we know how she thinks and feels about what is presented to her. As I told my wife, it was as if we were told a new clue given every ten minutes for five hours, yet despite solving the mystery after the second clue, we’re forced to sit through the next four hours and forty minutes of receiving clue after clue after clue. But Katniss doesn’t see any of it. The events and experiences of The Hunger Games did nothing for her cognitive reasoning skills, her intuition, or her core being. We’re supposed to believe this young woman is a survivor, yet she displays none of the traits of a survivor. It’s just phony.
But I can say that about a lot of other aspects of the world Collins created. We get no mention of a pro-Capitol person in the Districts. In every oppressed group, there is at least one faction of people who aligns with the ruling class. Apparently Panem is the exception. We don’t even hear of a tribute, not even a Career, who supports the Capitol. In fact, we saw the opposite, a circle of solidarity the night before the Quarter Quell began.
I can’t believe the Capitol is as dumb as Collins portrays them. Every empire has chinks in the armor, but the Capitol could not be that dumb. Nobody picks up on the mockingjay? Please. Nothing was more absurd than Katniss’ Quarter Quell interview wedding dress. Had I not been reading on my Kindle, I would have thrown the book across the room after that part.
I don’t anticipate the final book of the trilogy, but I will read it because I try to finish series that I start. But I have next to zero interest in it.
The ideas of this trilogy are so good. There is so much potential. I loved the idea of previous victors returning to the arena for the Quarter Quell. I loved the idea of Katniss dedicating herself to making sure Peeta survives victorious. I just don’t like any of the execution. As I read, I can’t help but to think about what I or any number of people could have done with this story. It is only because of those good ideas that I rate Catching Fire as highly as I do.
In the end, what I say is that The Hunger Games got be to buy in for the idea and the potential. I couldn’t buy into Catching Fire.
C-
Monday, February 28, 2011
Buck
The Soul of Baseball by Joe Posnanski
Now that I’ve finished reading it, I can’t really classify The Soul of Baseball. It’s not really a baseball book. It’s certainly not a biography. I can’t even say it’s a portrait of a man. The Soul of Baseball is so much more than any of that. I guess that, more than anything, I can call it a gift. A gift. Yes. I like that.
The Soul of Baseball is the result of sportswriter Joe Posnanski spending a little more than a year traveling the United States with Buck O’Neil. Buck, a man I’ve never met but felt like I’ve known my whole life, was widely known as America’s ambassador to baseball and, especially, the Negro Leagues. Although he never played in the Major Leagues, Buck O’Neil was the first Black man to coach at that level. He was also a longtime scout. More importantly, though, he was a fun, charismatic, and loveable guy who made you laugh, cry, and think.
At the book begins, Buck is 93 going on 94, and still maintaining a full schedule of promotions, interviews, public appearances, and campaigning on behalf of other former Negro League players for induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Posnanski does an excellent job of weaving poignant stories from O’Neil’s past into the present day’s story. There are also references to past stars like Josh Gibson, Satchel Paige, Ernie Banks, and others. And it all seems natural—because it is all natural.
Posnanski shows Buck to be an example of how free and easy a man can live when he doesn’t hold onto the negatives in life. By painting the portrait of O’Neil that we see in The Soul of Baseball, we readers can see how much our burdens bring us down. And Buck shows us that we don’t have to be that way.
Going in, I knew how the story would end. Still, The Soul of Baseball made me feel good. Buck O’Neil’s words and life are good life lessons that come across in an impactful way without the slightest bit of preaching. The further I read, I kept thinking that I want to have that man’s disposition when I get that old.
The Soul of Baseball was an excellent, excellent read. I’m pretty sure I’ll reread this one every couple of years for the rest of my life. You should, too.
A
Now that I’ve finished reading it, I can’t really classify The Soul of Baseball. It’s not really a baseball book. It’s certainly not a biography. I can’t even say it’s a portrait of a man. The Soul of Baseball is so much more than any of that. I guess that, more than anything, I can call it a gift. A gift. Yes. I like that.
The Soul of Baseball is the result of sportswriter Joe Posnanski spending a little more than a year traveling the United States with Buck O’Neil. Buck, a man I’ve never met but felt like I’ve known my whole life, was widely known as America’s ambassador to baseball and, especially, the Negro Leagues. Although he never played in the Major Leagues, Buck O’Neil was the first Black man to coach at that level. He was also a longtime scout. More importantly, though, he was a fun, charismatic, and loveable guy who made you laugh, cry, and think.
At the book begins, Buck is 93 going on 94, and still maintaining a full schedule of promotions, interviews, public appearances, and campaigning on behalf of other former Negro League players for induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Posnanski does an excellent job of weaving poignant stories from O’Neil’s past into the present day’s story. There are also references to past stars like Josh Gibson, Satchel Paige, Ernie Banks, and others. And it all seems natural—because it is all natural.
Posnanski shows Buck to be an example of how free and easy a man can live when he doesn’t hold onto the negatives in life. By painting the portrait of O’Neil that we see in The Soul of Baseball, we readers can see how much our burdens bring us down. And Buck shows us that we don’t have to be that way.
Going in, I knew how the story would end. Still, The Soul of Baseball made me feel good. Buck O’Neil’s words and life are good life lessons that come across in an impactful way without the slightest bit of preaching. The further I read, I kept thinking that I want to have that man’s disposition when I get that old.
The Soul of Baseball was an excellent, excellent read. I’m pretty sure I’ll reread this one every couple of years for the rest of my life. You should, too.
A
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Kennedy and Nixon
Kennedy and Nixon: The Rivalry that Shaped Postwar America by Christopher Matthews
My initial reaction to reading Kennedy and Nixon: The Rivalry that Shaped Postwar America is that Christopher Matthews, the author, was not really a fan of either former President. It is clear that he prefers Kennedy to Nixon, but I don’t get the sense that he particularly liked either. That is not a complaint. Matthews’ writing came across as close to unbiased as any political book can. I felt I was reading facts, not conjecture and propaganda.
Kennedy and Nixon was an excellent read. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so to children of the 1960s, but I found it to be very insightful. The perspective was a learning experience for me. While I had already known that Kennedy and Nixon had entered Congress together and had been friendly before the 1960 Presidential race, I did not know how much losing that race affected Nixon’s life path. And that’s the heart of the story. Matthew’s book shows Nixon’s transformation from a generally likeable guy to a man filled with hate and paranoia. From 1960 through 1962, 1963, and 1968, Nixon grew more and more hateful and all consumed with anything Kennedy. Due to the presence and influence of Ted Kennedy, even rising to the Presidency did not stop Nixon from that path.
It’s fascinating on so many levels. And it left me with dozens of unanswered questions—again, this is not a complaint; a factual, unbiased account shouldn’t take sides and provide speculation to things that are unanswerable. For instance, what would Nixon’s politics had been throughout the 60s and 70s had Kennedy thoroughly thrashed him in 1960 instead of defeating him by way of cheating (I must say that most sensible people must agree that Illinois and Texas were stolen from Nixon)? What would Nixon have been like had he won in 1960? What if Jack had lived? What if Bobby? What if both? What if Ted Kennedy had been taken down by Chappaquiddick? What if America had not been so gullible as to believe in the Camelot myth?
What is clear is that Richard Nixon was not the President he would have been had the Kennedy’s not haunted him. I am certain he never knew how much they affected him. We will never know.
It also seems to me that Kennedy and Nixon was a tale of jealousy. They were the Ali and Foreman of American politics. Nixon wanted so much for the people to love and admire him the way they did Jack. It was never going to happen, and he knew it. He just didn’t know why, didn’t know what Kennedy had that he didn’t.
In the end, he was brought down by his desire to become and destroy the Kennedys.
I tell you, it’s fascinating. And it’s a really good read.
B+
My initial reaction to reading Kennedy and Nixon: The Rivalry that Shaped Postwar America is that Christopher Matthews, the author, was not really a fan of either former President. It is clear that he prefers Kennedy to Nixon, but I don’t get the sense that he particularly liked either. That is not a complaint. Matthews’ writing came across as close to unbiased as any political book can. I felt I was reading facts, not conjecture and propaganda.
Kennedy and Nixon was an excellent read. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so to children of the 1960s, but I found it to be very insightful. The perspective was a learning experience for me. While I had already known that Kennedy and Nixon had entered Congress together and had been friendly before the 1960 Presidential race, I did not know how much losing that race affected Nixon’s life path. And that’s the heart of the story. Matthew’s book shows Nixon’s transformation from a generally likeable guy to a man filled with hate and paranoia. From 1960 through 1962, 1963, and 1968, Nixon grew more and more hateful and all consumed with anything Kennedy. Due to the presence and influence of Ted Kennedy, even rising to the Presidency did not stop Nixon from that path.
It’s fascinating on so many levels. And it left me with dozens of unanswered questions—again, this is not a complaint; a factual, unbiased account shouldn’t take sides and provide speculation to things that are unanswerable. For instance, what would Nixon’s politics had been throughout the 60s and 70s had Kennedy thoroughly thrashed him in 1960 instead of defeating him by way of cheating (I must say that most sensible people must agree that Illinois and Texas were stolen from Nixon)? What would Nixon have been like had he won in 1960? What if Jack had lived? What if Bobby? What if both? What if Ted Kennedy had been taken down by Chappaquiddick? What if America had not been so gullible as to believe in the Camelot myth?
What is clear is that Richard Nixon was not the President he would have been had the Kennedy’s not haunted him. I am certain he never knew how much they affected him. We will never know.
It also seems to me that Kennedy and Nixon was a tale of jealousy. They were the Ali and Foreman of American politics. Nixon wanted so much for the people to love and admire him the way they did Jack. It was never going to happen, and he knew it. He just didn’t know why, didn’t know what Kennedy had that he didn’t.
In the end, he was brought down by his desire to become and destroy the Kennedys.
I tell you, it’s fascinating. And it’s a really good read.
B+
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The Third Rail
The Third Rail by Michael Harvey
This book was all over the place. I can’t say it was good, bad, or somewhere in the middle. There was a lot to like and a lot to dislike. Like I said, The Third Rail seemed to be going a thousand different directions at one time.
Unlike the first two Michael Kelly novels, The Third Rail alternates between first person narrative from Kelly’s perspective and third person following several other characters. I was used to reading everything through Kelly’s thoughts, but this structure was fine. I just can’t figure out what the author, Michael Harvey, was trying to do.
The first Michael Kelly novel, The Chicago Way, was gritty and raw. The next two have been showier. Both The Fifth Floor and The Third Rail are more typical of other detective novels than was their predecessor. These last two books featured more action, more “romance,” and more heroism. That is not a bad thing; it’s just different from the Michael Kelly that was introduced to us in the first novel.
Also, Michael Kelly has become an overly good guy. He is a guy so morally good that he is no longer very believable. As such, there were situations that made me shake my head. They were too unrealistic. I’ll give you two examples. First is a scene during which Homeland Security wants something Kelly has in his apartment. DHS, along with the mayor of Chicago, break into Kelly’s home while the private investigator is not home. Instead of searching for the item, DHS waits and asks Kelly for it. As it turns out, the item was not hidden; a ten-year old would have found it during a 5-minute search. In reality, Homeland Security would have found the item and left the apartment before Kelly ever showed up—and he may or may not have ever known they were there. The second example is the scene featuring the death of a woman. Someone who really had no true reason to be on the scene killed a woman that Kelly should have killed. But Kelly, the character, couldn’t do that. In The Chicago Way, I believe he would have killed her. It’s almost as if Harvey is creating peripheral characters who exist for the sole purpose of doing the dirty work that he is no longer willing to let Kelly do. I don’t particularly like that.
My biggest issue with The Third Rail is that I felt like was reading a remix of Dennis Lehane’s Darkness, Take My Hand. I am not at all suggesting that Michael Harvey stole Lehane’s story. The two novels had the same feel from beginning. As such, it wasn’t long before I figured out the identity of The Third Rail’s criminal mastermind.
Also, since Harvey utilized third person perspective in telling the story, I would like to have seen more of Robles’ back story. For such an essential character to the narrative of the story, he was in many ways a throw-in. We never learn the “how” about him, and I think the “how” could have added to the novel.
Still, it was a good story, and I recommend The Third Rail to anyone who read the first two Michael Kelly novels.
Among the things I like are the Rachel Swenson storyline. I complained about her after reading The Fifth Floor, but those complaints don’t exist this time around. I like that Harvey has continued the theme of Kelly’s life—nothing he loves sticks around. It just can’t work out for him, and I like that the author has not copped out in that regard. I also love how Harvey keeps the feel of Chicago throughout all the novels. The city is an important character, and I feel the author remains true it.
Although it is not the best, The Third Rail is a good detective novel.
C
This book was all over the place. I can’t say it was good, bad, or somewhere in the middle. There was a lot to like and a lot to dislike. Like I said, The Third Rail seemed to be going a thousand different directions at one time.
Unlike the first two Michael Kelly novels, The Third Rail alternates between first person narrative from Kelly’s perspective and third person following several other characters. I was used to reading everything through Kelly’s thoughts, but this structure was fine. I just can’t figure out what the author, Michael Harvey, was trying to do.
The first Michael Kelly novel, The Chicago Way, was gritty and raw. The next two have been showier. Both The Fifth Floor and The Third Rail are more typical of other detective novels than was their predecessor. These last two books featured more action, more “romance,” and more heroism. That is not a bad thing; it’s just different from the Michael Kelly that was introduced to us in the first novel.
Also, Michael Kelly has become an overly good guy. He is a guy so morally good that he is no longer very believable. As such, there were situations that made me shake my head. They were too unrealistic. I’ll give you two examples. First is a scene during which Homeland Security wants something Kelly has in his apartment. DHS, along with the mayor of Chicago, break into Kelly’s home while the private investigator is not home. Instead of searching for the item, DHS waits and asks Kelly for it. As it turns out, the item was not hidden; a ten-year old would have found it during a 5-minute search. In reality, Homeland Security would have found the item and left the apartment before Kelly ever showed up—and he may or may not have ever known they were there. The second example is the scene featuring the death of a woman. Someone who really had no true reason to be on the scene killed a woman that Kelly should have killed. But Kelly, the character, couldn’t do that. In The Chicago Way, I believe he would have killed her. It’s almost as if Harvey is creating peripheral characters who exist for the sole purpose of doing the dirty work that he is no longer willing to let Kelly do. I don’t particularly like that.
My biggest issue with The Third Rail is that I felt like was reading a remix of Dennis Lehane’s Darkness, Take My Hand. I am not at all suggesting that Michael Harvey stole Lehane’s story. The two novels had the same feel from beginning. As such, it wasn’t long before I figured out the identity of The Third Rail’s criminal mastermind.
Also, since Harvey utilized third person perspective in telling the story, I would like to have seen more of Robles’ back story. For such an essential character to the narrative of the story, he was in many ways a throw-in. We never learn the “how” about him, and I think the “how” could have added to the novel.
Still, it was a good story, and I recommend The Third Rail to anyone who read the first two Michael Kelly novels.
Among the things I like are the Rachel Swenson storyline. I complained about her after reading The Fifth Floor, but those complaints don’t exist this time around. I like that Harvey has continued the theme of Kelly’s life—nothing he loves sticks around. It just can’t work out for him, and I like that the author has not copped out in that regard. I also love how Harvey keeps the feel of Chicago throughout all the novels. The city is an important character, and I feel the author remains true it.
Although it is not the best, The Third Rail is a good detective novel.
C
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
The Fifth Floor
The Fifth Floor by Michael Harvey
The Fifth Floor is the second of Michael Harvey’s novels to feature private investigator Michael Kelly. After enjoying The Chicago Way, the first Michael Kelly novel, so much, I was in a hurry to pick up The Fifth Floor. I was highly disappointed.
This story is nowhere near as gritty as its predecessor. Not even close. Instead, Harvey tried to do something different this time around. In my opinion, he tried to do too much. Whereas the grittiness and rawness of The Chicago Way created emotional tension, Harvey tried the opposite approach in The Fifth Floor. This time, the story began with the emotional tension and the author tried to use that tension to great the story’s grit. It did not work.
The story begins with Kelly meeting with a physically abused woman in his office. From the very beginning, Kelly’s is drawn in by emotion. He took this case because of his emotions. The plot of the first novel revolved around a case that Kelly took because he was fighting for justice. That element is missing from The Fifth Floor. While it is true that this novel heavily involves Chicago’s corrupt political leadership, the inhabitants of The Fifth Floor of City Hall, Kelly is not looking for justice in his fight with mayor and his cronies. It’s all personal, and it all stems from a relationship that ended fifteen years in the past.
I must say that the characters in The Fifth Floor are more interesting and more complex than those in The Chicago Way. There is much more moral ambiguity in this novel. These are good things. But as I said, Harvey attempted to put too much into this story. Not only does it bog down the story, but it also leads to too many secondary plots. There isn’t anything wrong with these plots per se, but they do not fit into the overall story arc very well. For instance, a federal judge who appeared in The Chicago Way played an unnecessarily bigger role this time. This judge could have fulfilled her plot functions in much the same way as in the first novel, but Harvey gave a bigger role in the second. It felt awkward and unnatural in a way that nothing in the first novel did. There was also an added scene whose purpose seems to be nothing more than showing us how tough and fearless Michael Kelly is. After the PI was thrown in jail, he started a fight with his cellmate. I know why, but I don’t know why. These two are examples that show how cluttered The Fifth Floor was. It just doesn’t flow well.
Other than what was written above, I had two major issues with The Fifth Floor. The first is a break-in of Kelly’s apartment. It was too much of a contrived coincidence for me that the break-in occurred on the first night a particular woman spent the night with Kelly. The fact that the woman was present becomes a big deal for moving the plot forward. Also, after we learn the identity of the intruder, I wanted to know how this individual knew anything about item that was the motivation for the break-in. The item in question was a secret. Not many people knew about it. The only people who could have told the intruder about said item were the men of The Fifth Floor. Those men had no reason to share what they knew with the intruder. It doesn’t make sense to me, and it is a big negative in terms of my feelings about the novel.
The other major issue is that there was a gem of a plot point that Harvey ignored until the epilogue. There were moments that hinted at Kelly thinking about it, but it was never explored. In my mind, it was a more intriguing and potentially more emotional secondary plot than anything involving the federal judge. This would have also created more of the grit and rhythm of The Chicago Way.
More than anything else, it was that rhythm that was missing from The Fifth Floor. For now, I’ll chalk it up to a sophomore slump. I hope The Third Rail does not suffer from the same issues.
C+
The Fifth Floor is the second of Michael Harvey’s novels to feature private investigator Michael Kelly. After enjoying The Chicago Way, the first Michael Kelly novel, so much, I was in a hurry to pick up The Fifth Floor. I was highly disappointed.
This story is nowhere near as gritty as its predecessor. Not even close. Instead, Harvey tried to do something different this time around. In my opinion, he tried to do too much. Whereas the grittiness and rawness of The Chicago Way created emotional tension, Harvey tried the opposite approach in The Fifth Floor. This time, the story began with the emotional tension and the author tried to use that tension to great the story’s grit. It did not work.
The story begins with Kelly meeting with a physically abused woman in his office. From the very beginning, Kelly’s is drawn in by emotion. He took this case because of his emotions. The plot of the first novel revolved around a case that Kelly took because he was fighting for justice. That element is missing from The Fifth Floor. While it is true that this novel heavily involves Chicago’s corrupt political leadership, the inhabitants of The Fifth Floor of City Hall, Kelly is not looking for justice in his fight with mayor and his cronies. It’s all personal, and it all stems from a relationship that ended fifteen years in the past.
I must say that the characters in The Fifth Floor are more interesting and more complex than those in The Chicago Way. There is much more moral ambiguity in this novel. These are good things. But as I said, Harvey attempted to put too much into this story. Not only does it bog down the story, but it also leads to too many secondary plots. There isn’t anything wrong with these plots per se, but they do not fit into the overall story arc very well. For instance, a federal judge who appeared in The Chicago Way played an unnecessarily bigger role this time. This judge could have fulfilled her plot functions in much the same way as in the first novel, but Harvey gave a bigger role in the second. It felt awkward and unnatural in a way that nothing in the first novel did. There was also an added scene whose purpose seems to be nothing more than showing us how tough and fearless Michael Kelly is. After the PI was thrown in jail, he started a fight with his cellmate. I know why, but I don’t know why. These two are examples that show how cluttered The Fifth Floor was. It just doesn’t flow well.
Other than what was written above, I had two major issues with The Fifth Floor. The first is a break-in of Kelly’s apartment. It was too much of a contrived coincidence for me that the break-in occurred on the first night a particular woman spent the night with Kelly. The fact that the woman was present becomes a big deal for moving the plot forward. Also, after we learn the identity of the intruder, I wanted to know how this individual knew anything about item that was the motivation for the break-in. The item in question was a secret. Not many people knew about it. The only people who could have told the intruder about said item were the men of The Fifth Floor. Those men had no reason to share what they knew with the intruder. It doesn’t make sense to me, and it is a big negative in terms of my feelings about the novel.
The other major issue is that there was a gem of a plot point that Harvey ignored until the epilogue. There were moments that hinted at Kelly thinking about it, but it was never explored. In my mind, it was a more intriguing and potentially more emotional secondary plot than anything involving the federal judge. This would have also created more of the grit and rhythm of The Chicago Way.
More than anything else, it was that rhythm that was missing from The Fifth Floor. For now, I’ll chalk it up to a sophomore slump. I hope The Third Rail does not suffer from the same issues.
C+
Monday, January 3, 2011
Second City
The Chicago Way by Michael Harvey
I bought The Chicago Way by Michael Harvey several months ago because Amazon had it on sale for cheap. I’m glad I did.
Most fictional detectives have sad lives and hard upbringings. It seems this is a prerequisite for becoming a good fictional detective. Harvey’s private investigator protagonist, Michael Kelly, is has a life filled with next level sadness. As I said to my wife, the best way to describe how rough Kelly’s life has been is that he’s a White detective in Chicago whose life-long best friend is a Black woman. Yeah, it’s that bad.
Kelly is a 35-year old private investigator who was formerly a detective with the Chicago Police Department. The case at the heart of The Chicago Way is a nine-year old rape of a woman named Elaine Remington. Kelly is approached by his former partner for help solving the case. Fighting for Elaine costs Kelly pretty much everything that matters to him, yet he never backs down. Even though he must meed the Chicago Mob and fight enemies in the District Attorney’s office, Kelly uses every single resource at his disposal—legal or not—to find answers. Throughout this novel, the reader gets to see all the reasons why Michael Kelly is a great detective and a pretty bad everything else.
Following the lead of its main character, The Chicago Way is one of the sadder detective novels I’ve ever read. Without giving anything away, I can say that everything in Kelly’s life takes a pretty sharp downturn in this novel. If he possessed the ability to step outside of himself, I’m not sure he would even want to solve the case that is at the center of The Chicago Way. One could argue that Kelly’s persistence in closing a case is nothing more than masochism. Even in the end, in the novel’s final scene, Kelly undertakes his most masochistic quest.
The Chicago Way is gritty. It’s hard and edgy and dark. And it deals with rape and murder and pedophilia. This is not some cute Hollywood detective story. It’s grim, and not very hopeful. And it’s all Chicago.
As with any mystery, there are twists and turns. I didn’t figure them all out before they came, and that’s a good thing. In most cases, I only saw them a matter of moments before the detective did. In some cases, I was wrong. I like that. The Chicago Way was a fully satisfying read.
I know that Michael Harvey has written two Michael Kelly novels that follow The Chicago Way. I will begin reading the next one right away. This was a great debut detective story.
B+
I bought The Chicago Way by Michael Harvey several months ago because Amazon had it on sale for cheap. I’m glad I did.
Most fictional detectives have sad lives and hard upbringings. It seems this is a prerequisite for becoming a good fictional detective. Harvey’s private investigator protagonist, Michael Kelly, is has a life filled with next level sadness. As I said to my wife, the best way to describe how rough Kelly’s life has been is that he’s a White detective in Chicago whose life-long best friend is a Black woman. Yeah, it’s that bad.
Kelly is a 35-year old private investigator who was formerly a detective with the Chicago Police Department. The case at the heart of The Chicago Way is a nine-year old rape of a woman named Elaine Remington. Kelly is approached by his former partner for help solving the case. Fighting for Elaine costs Kelly pretty much everything that matters to him, yet he never backs down. Even though he must meed the Chicago Mob and fight enemies in the District Attorney’s office, Kelly uses every single resource at his disposal—legal or not—to find answers. Throughout this novel, the reader gets to see all the reasons why Michael Kelly is a great detective and a pretty bad everything else.
Following the lead of its main character, The Chicago Way is one of the sadder detective novels I’ve ever read. Without giving anything away, I can say that everything in Kelly’s life takes a pretty sharp downturn in this novel. If he possessed the ability to step outside of himself, I’m not sure he would even want to solve the case that is at the center of The Chicago Way. One could argue that Kelly’s persistence in closing a case is nothing more than masochism. Even in the end, in the novel’s final scene, Kelly undertakes his most masochistic quest.
The Chicago Way is gritty. It’s hard and edgy and dark. And it deals with rape and murder and pedophilia. This is not some cute Hollywood detective story. It’s grim, and not very hopeful. And it’s all Chicago.
As with any mystery, there are twists and turns. I didn’t figure them all out before they came, and that’s a good thing. In most cases, I only saw them a matter of moments before the detective did. In some cases, I was wrong. I like that. The Chicago Way was a fully satisfying read.
I know that Michael Harvey has written two Michael Kelly novels that follow The Chicago Way. I will begin reading the next one right away. This was a great debut detective story.
B+
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